Safeguard
by Akasa
Summary: A late night hovercraft repair leads to a conversation, and perhaps something more, between Rikku and Gippal.


**Safeguard**

* * *

She hears the distinct clang of metal against metal before the toolbox slides out from underneath the hovercraft, followed by its owner. Her arms remain folded across her chest in a stoic manner, but an impatient grin spills from the edge of her mouth upon seeing his narrowed gaze.

"I dare you to say that again, Kid."

She watches as he wipes his hand on the handkerchief, the grease stains creating gradients of gray on the fabric. He pulls a knee towards his chest as the other one hangs lazily to the side. His arms fall back as his palms slap against the hard cement floor of the garage. His position reminds her of a lawn chair, which only makes her want to giggle even more.

"C'mon. If you really meant it, say it to my face."

His voice is teasing. Is daring. Is ready for a battle of words the moment she takes the bait. But she remains still and shakes her head, her arms folded across her chest.

He sighs then, dipping his head down low as if in disappointment. He scratches the back of his neck tiredly before turning his gaze upwards, his eye playfully searching hers in the dim light. _"Chicken."_

She fidgets slightly in her spot, digging the heel of her shoes into the ground and twisting her torso from side to side. She can hear the rustling of his pants as he suddenly stands and walks toward her. Can hear the thumping of her heartbeat get louder and louder in her ears, pounding against her chest. Can smell the scent of his characteristic cologne amidst the grease and grime of the quiet room. Finally, he stops in front of her, and she can feel his cool breath on her neck.

She leans back against the wall as if it were a bed, his arms falling on either side of her, caging her in like a predator would his prey. He towers over her in those large work boots of his. Boots that quickly step forward when she decides to slide down and out of the enclosure. His hips instantly press against her body to keep her in place, and she can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks as she forces herself to look up at him. A contagious smirk dances on his amused lips.

"Say it," he tells her, and she finally gives in:

"M-Maybe you're not a good lover."

He shakes his head with a frown, his forehead brushing against hers lightly. "Now, why would you say a thing like _that_?"

She shrugs, causing her shoulders to touch his wrists. She doesn't have an answer for him. Not one she's willing to give, anyway. After a moment of silence, he lifts his weight off of her before he pushes himself from the wall and spins around to face the malfunctioning hovercraft. His hands are planted at his waist as he stretches his neck back to stare at the stained-glass ceiling.

"I only do it to save them," he explains as if there were a question. As if she were a priest and he was confessing his sins.

She remains placid against the wall, his warmth still lingering on her skin. She watches as he bends over to pick up the toolbox from the ground and sets it on the wooden table beside them. The metal instruments rattle in their container.

"From what?"

Her voice sounds surprisingly innocent, and he almost turns around to look at her. Look to see if the eight year old girl he once knew had returned from his past, curve-less, and boob-less, and clueless, and waiting for him to come out and play in the sandbox they called Bikanel. But time has passed and things have changed, and he knows he won't be able to stop himself from pressing her up against the wall again if he turns around to look at her now.

"...I'll be in my office," he says instead, and leaves the garage and her question behind.

It's only when he's gone from sight does she allow her knees to buckle and pool like a puddle on the ground. She presses a hand against her neck where his breath had tickled her earlier before, and bites her bottom lip to keep herself from grinning like a fool. She knows he has security cameras all over the temple, and she doesn't plan to let him see her any more flushed than she is now. She doesn't want to be one of _them_. She doesn't want to be _saved_.

So... why is she getting up? Why isn't she heading toward the local inn to stay the night? Why is she trying to remember the location of his office?

She understands now, she thinks, as she looks around the empty room. Understands what he meant when she can hear the echo of her footsteps in the large, vacant temple. Understands when she catches his shadow turning the corner down the long corridor. When her heart flutters and her limbs move of their own accord.

Every woman wants to be saved.

From loneliness.

* * *

_A/N: I've been tinkering with this for a while and this is the result. Please let me know what you think!_


End file.
